Shiver
by FaithHopeLove
Summary: How a child can change a life...MC, BA
1. Broken

**AN: **Greetings all. I'm not new to fan fiction (I've been writing on this site for a year and a half- all SVU stuff), but I'm new to writing CI fics, so I'd love any input, advice, or suggestions you could give me. One thing I'd like to know…does Detective Barek have kids, and is she married? Do we know?

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine, no one's paying me, don't sue. Property of Dick Wolf. Hail to him.

**Rating: **PG-13 for now.

**Spoilers: **Mention of the 'Law and Order' second season premiere…

**Residence of Mike Logan**

**Monday, July 10th, 6:15 AM**

**Manhattan, New York**

Mike Logan groaned inwardly upon hearing a knock at the door. At this hour, it could only be one of three possibilities: a drunk, a solicitor, or the Mormon down the hall who just wouldn't take "agnostic" for an answer, and he was willing to bet on the last one.

"Daniel, I already told you…Mrs. Jackson. Everything okay?"

Mike smiled down at the elderly women who he knew lived just across the hall.

"Mike. Sorry to be here this early, but I wanted to catch you before you went to work, and I know you're supposed to be there for seven, so here I am."

"Is there something I can do for you?" He asked, still concerned.

"Do you know Rebecca Andrews?" She asked, "Fifteen year old who lives in 408 with her mother?"

Mike shook his head. He doubted he would ever be walking the halls of his apartment at the same hours as a teenage girl.

"I heard a lot of shouting and banging coming from their apartment last night, and Rebecca usually leaves around six to go for a run, but I didn't hear her leave…I'm a little worried about her. Do you think you could go make sure everything's okay? I'd do it myself, but…well…"

"Of course," Mike said, "No problem."

He had liked Marie Jackson from the moment she had come to introduce herself to him when he had moved in. She reminded him of Marie Greevey, the wife of Max Greevey, who had been his partner for a time when he worked in homicide.

Walking to apartment 408, he was surprised to find the door ajar.

"Hello?" Mike called, opening the door, "Is anyone home?"

Silence. He smelled the stench of alcohol before he saw the bottles littering the coffee table, along with the cigarettes. For a moment, but just a moment, he was eleven years old again, walking into his childhood home. Then, reality kicked in. He was an adult; he was a cop; he was here to make sure that all was okay in the Andrews' residence.

He continued to walk throughout the apartment.

"Is anybody here?" He called again, standing once more by the entrance.

A muffled sob escaped from the closet by the entrance, and Mike turned to it, pulling it open, exposing a young girl who he presumed was Rebecca Andrews. Instantly, Mike found himself having to force back the bile rising. He thought he had seen evil done to some of the victims he'd seen over his years on the force; thought he'd seen depravity. But seeing the battered body of a fifteen year old child…

He knew nothing could have prepared him for the sensation he felt. The hatred towards the abuser, the hatred at the evil, hate for all the assholes who could find it within their deluded souls to take their self-hatred out on their own child with a belt, or a cigarette, or their fist…it all flooded him.

And then he forced it back, knowing that his hatred was not what was important right now. What _was_ important was the shivering, scared girl in front of him.

"Are you Rebecca?"

She nodded, tears filling her eyes.

"Please don't hurt me…" She begged, "Please…I'll do whatever you want, just…don't…"

"It's alright, sweetheart. It's alright. My name is Mike. I'm a police officer. I'm here to help you, okay?"

Rebecca just looked at him, fear still in her eyes. Mike hated that; hated that she felt afraid of him. Hated that he knew the extent of what she was going through.

"Come on," Mike said, non-threateningly reaching out towards her, "Come on. It's okay. You're safe now."

It was as he gently helped her up that he first realized the severity of the beating she had taken; bruises, cuts and burns covered her body, all, Mike could tell, in various stages of healing.

"Who did this to you, Rebecca?" He asked.

He saw her fighting back the tears, forcing back her pain; forcing back everything.

"My…mother…"

With that, no longer able to hold it in, Rebecca started to cry- broken, ragged sobs, each one breaking Mike's heart a little further. Slowly giving into compassion, Mike shed the professionalism he'd been clinging to as his only hope of not letting this get personal.

And yet he had known from the moment he pulled open the closet, the second he had laid eyes on her, that it was personal. It was going to hit him hard, regardless of how much he tried to block it out; there was no stopping it. He had been her. He'd been the child cowering in a closet once, begging his mother not to hurt him. And he wasn't going to let her return to this. No matter what it took; no matter what he had to do.

He would not let her go back to living like this.

Mike tentatively pulled her into his arms, holding her in a first unsure, then decidedly paternal embrace. He continued to hold her, softly whispering to her until her sobs died down, his voice at a soothing pitch.

"Shhh…" He whispered, wiping away the tears still on her cheeks, "It's over, Rebecca. It's over."

Mike took her hand in his, leading her towards the door.

"We need to get you to a hospital."

**St. Mark's Hospital**

**Monday, July 10th, 7:30 AM**

**Carolyn Barek's POV**

I walk into Saint Mark's, my eyes taking in almost too much at once. I see the dreariness of the waiting room; the exhaustion, sadness, pain, and anger that is radiating from the people around me. I see nurses and doctors hurrying throughout the corridors, the chaotic importance of their jobs the only thing keeping them going.

I see all these things, and yet my focus rests on one person; the center of the flurry happening around me- my partner, Mike Logan. It's been a year now since I became his partner, and over that year, I've seen him in about a million different moods; dealing with a ton of different emotions. Pain. Anger. Pure hatred. Forgiveness. Empathy. Apathy. Right now, however, he has an emotion etched in every line of his face that I've never seen in him before: total, complete fear.

That almost scares me. Mike doesn't show fear. At least, not to me. So when our eyes meet, and not a thing chances, that fear begins to set in me.

He called me an hour ago, told me to meet him at Saint Mark's. He told me that he was fine, and yet, I still worried the whole way here, and as I sit beside him, my heart racing, the fear starts to build.

"What happened?"

"I found a girl in my apartment building before I left for work this morning. She lives down the hall from me…and I found her…in the closet of her apartment…beaten to a bloody pulp." Mike says to me, anger becoming more and more apparent with every syllable.

"How's she doing now?"

You gotta love that incredible maternal drive that, I swear, all women develop in time, regardless of whether or not they have children. How you can fear for a child not your own, how you can love them, feel for them, mother them…

It's an emotion I've often doubted that men understand. But when I look in his eyes, I see something that's also never been there before: the slightest hint of an almost parental fear.

"She's hanging in there. She's got cuts, bruises, and second-degree burns all over her body, all in various stages of healing. She's suffering from malnutrition, dehydration, and there's evidence from the rope burn on her wrists that she's…been tied up for up to seventy-two hours…"

His voice is cracking, and I can tell from the disgust in his voice that there's more he's not telling me.

"Anything else?"

"She's been raped. She refused to talk about it, but she was bleeding from her…" Mike said, fury flashing in his eyes, "She consented to the rape kit, I called SVU…"

"Isn't…Mike, we could take care of this…we've investigated rape and abuse cases before."

He looks at me, about to answer, when a nurse walks into the waiting room.

"Detective Logan?" She calls.

"Yes?" Mike says, practically springing from his seat, the fear in his eyes increasing.

"You can see her now."

I don't think anything could have stopped him as he hurried to her room. I give it a moment, wondering if I should go with him, or stay here. After several moments, I choose to go to her room. There's a glass window, the blinds up, and looking through it, I see Rebecca for the first time, and a jolt of pain rushes through me. I doubt I'll ever be able to fathom how a parent could do something so cruel to their own child. I look at her bruised face, the pain that fills her vivid blue eyes, and I hate the fact that she looks so alone. Until I register the fact that she isn't alone because Mike is there with her.

She's shivering under the mound of blankets on her bed; shivering with a force that I can tell is completely internal; a shivering that I doubt will cease for some time.

But I'm wrong. Because a moment after Mike takes her hand between his own, her shivering ceases.

TBC. Please review! Good, bad, indifferent, any suggestions…I'll take anything, but if you think it sucks, I'd be really happy if you could tell me that in a constructive way instead of flaming me. 


	2. Faith

**AN:**(spoiler for the end of season five in my AN) Since we don't know who the new Captain is yet, I'm setting this before Deakins left, and depending on whatever happens in the season premiere (assuming I'm not done by then), I'll write it in. 

Thanks so much for all the reviews. I am truly humbled and honored by the things you all have said. Here's the second chapter, hope you all enjoy!

**Spoilers: **'Bad Faith' 'Indifference' (Law and Order), 'To the Bone' 'Diamond Dogs' (CI) and any other episodes of Law and Order/CI that mention Logan's childhood. A factor throughout season three that involved Alex Eames and her sister (or was that season four?).

* * *

**Saint Mark's Hospital**

**Monday, July 10th, 9:01 AM**

Carolyn looked over at Mike. The two of them had been sitting in Rebecca's hospital room in silence for the last half-hour, both deep in thoughts about Rebecca. Carolyn was personally worried, both about Mike, and about Rebecca, but she knew Mike's mind was clouded with much deeper things. Rebecca. His own childhood.

Rebecca was finally asleep thanks to the painkillers that had been given to her. Carolyn hated this powerlessness; hated that all she could do was pray that Rebecca was sleeping peacefully without further torment; without reliving whatever hell she'd been through, even in her dreams, unable to escape it.

"Mike?" Carolyn said softly, worried about where her partners mind was at, "Talk to me..."

"Why do you think that no one from SVU has shown up yet?" Mike said softly, "I called them an hour ago."

"They're not here because I called Deakins and asked him to contact Cragen and have it reassigned," Carolyn responded, "Bobby and Alex are at the apartment right now. When Rebecca wakes up, we're supposed to question her."

Mike sighed, not knowing if he was ready to reveal all he felt.

"I can't take this case, Care." Mike said, his voice cracking, "For one…it's too personal. She lived right across the hall from me. I did nothing. For another…"

"What?"

"Let me put it this way…the second her social worker walks in here, I'll be asking about applications and the paperwork I need to do to become Rebecca's foster parent. And I would never be allowed to investigate her case with that scenario."

Carolyn nodded slowly. A part of her was shocked, yet a part of her had expected this. There were some things about her partner that she didn't know of; but from the moment she had met Mike Logan, she had seen someone deeper than what most saw. So many people saw a cocky chauvinist when they were around him. She saw otherwise.

She'd known almost instantly after meeting him that his cockiness was just a cover-up; a way to let people know that he was not a man they should or could mess with. As for being a chauvinist, she would never be able to see him that way. She had seen the quick, seething glances he had slipped in at suspects who looked at her in an unprofessional way; seen the commitment he had to protecting women from men who would hurt them.

She had seen a man who was angry; indeed, she knew, Mike did have a lot of anger within him. But it was controlled. And most of it was directed towards Mrs. Andrews, women like her, and all people who would do anything to degrade or destroy their fellow men.

She also saw a man of great compassion, who was deeply passionate about getting justice for the victims of crime. A man who would likely give his life in an instant to save a child from harm; who often hid the deep pain he felt for them by a tough as nails exterior.

Carolyn knew what went on inside him when he looked at Rebecca; looked at any of the kids they worked with. Both of them felt disgust towards the parents, and empathy for the children. But Mike was the one who truly could understand what they were going through. After all, he had suffered because of his mother. He'd lived in fear; he'd been hurt; he'd ducked the blows.

She knew it was that which brought him to this; the fierce, fatherly need he was feeling to protect Rebecca; to cherish her; to nourish her. It _was_ an odd thought, however,Mike Logan as a father, foster or otherwise.

"You don't approve, do you?" Mike said softly, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

Carolyn smiled at her partner; surprised at the words that came from her, yet knowing every single one was true.

"Quite the contrary, Mike," She said, reaching across the bed to squeeze his hand for one quick, gentle moment, partner to partner, "I will be the first to recommend you to that social worker."

* * *

**Residence of Leona Andrews**

**9:44 AM**

"I hate cases when the kid's the victim." Bobby said, his voice low- almost dangerous as he looked through the Andrews' living room with Alex.

"You're not alone in that regard." Alex replied, disgust in her voice as she sadly eyed the beer bottles, cigarettes that were strewn throughout the room.

"Did you call children's services?" Bobby asked.

"I did," Alex said, heading towards the single bedroom in the apartment, "They're sending a social worker over to the hospital."

Bobby nodded, looking Alex in the eye for a brief moment. She used to hate it when he did that; hated the way Bobby Goren could look right through her; could stare into her very soul. A silent moment of understanding was passed between the two detectives; Alex had a nephew; she'd given birth to him; at times regretted giving him up. Alex had always had a soft spot for the younger victims.

"I'm okay," She said to Bobby, "I'm worried about Mike, though. According to Carolyn, Rebecca's pretty banged up. And he took it personally."

Bobby nodded, sadness in his eyes. Sometimes he hated the fact that he'd let Alex in so much; had let her know about his life. There were times he thought it would be easier for both of them if they left their relationship as professional, and only that. And yet, he knew it went deeper than that. He knew that, at very least, he considered her to be one of his dearest friends, and knew it was vice versa. And at times, in moments like these, he wondered if that was a bad thing. If they ever let it get in the way of their jobs.

Then, Alex walked into the bedroom, and Bobby, taking a deep breath, walked towards the closet.

* * *

**Saint Mark's Hospital**

**10:30 AM**

Mariette Henderson knocked softly on the open door of the hospital room, finding a man and a woman on either side of Rebecca Andrew's bed. The man had his eyes closed, his hands folded in his lap. The woman looked over at her.

"Mike," She said softly.

The man- Mike, she presumed- instantly looked over to her.

"Hi," Mariette said, "I'm Mariette Henderson. I'm the social worker who's been assigned to Rebecca's case."

"Carolyn Barek." The woman said, shaking Mariette's hand.

"Mike Logan." Mike said, standing and shaking her hands.

"You were the one who found her, weren't you, detective?" Mariette said, "I'd like to ask you a couple questions if you don't mind. Could we step outside for a minute?"

"Certainly," Mike responded, "I have a couple questions myself."

"I'll stay with Rebecca." Carolyn said, smiling at Mike.

Mike followed Mariette out to the hall, and sat beside her in a waiting room chair.

"What did you want to ask, detective?"

Mike sighed, and for a moment, just a brief moment, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Wondered if it was really in Rebecca's best interest to have him for a parent. But in the end, he knew what he had to do. His fate had been sealed.

"I want to foster her."

Mariette raised her eyebrows.

"You're a foster parent?"

"No," Mike said, "Could I file for temporary licensing? I'll work towards full certification as soon as possible."

"Well, there are several things we need to do before I can give you a yes or no. First, with your job, and the hours you have to work, are you sure this is in Rebecca's best interest?"

"The job is demanding," Mike admitted, "But let me guarantee you…that I do have her best interests at heart, and if I thought it would interfere…I wouldn't be doing this. In a way, it's a plus. I've had training in helping abused children."

"Are you married, Detective?"

"No, I'm single."

"Then how do you plan to give her all the support and love she needs? Are you sure you can do it on your own?" Mariette said, not unkindly.

Mike sighed. He knew that was a negative towards him. Rebecca deserved to have some kind of maternal figure in her life, who would love her, and nurture her like a mother would. He would give her all he had; of that he was sure. But…sometimes, all he had wouldn't be enough. Sometimes, she would need another female. Then, he heard a voice from behind him.

"Although I'm positive Mike would be more than competent," Carolyn responded, "I would be more than happy to help him in that regard."

Mike turned to look at Carolyn.

"She's awake, Mike. She asked for you."

Mike turned back to Mariette, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Go." Mariette said softly, "We can continue this conversation when you're done. I'd…appreciate it if you wouldn't mention the possibility of your fostering her until we're more certain."

"Of course," Mike said, hurrying to Rebecca's room.

It hurt him to look at her like this. She looked so tiny; so crumpled underneath the bedding, the lighting in the room only making the bruises on her face worse.

"Hey, kiddo." Mike said warmly to the young girl.

"Hey…" Rebecca said, unsure of how to respond.

She didn't understand why he cared so much. Why he'd held her hand through it all- wondered why it was he hadn't left her side through the rape kit, the stitches they'd put in her back...men would never care about her; no one would ever care about her. That was one lesson she'd learned for years now. She was just a whore.

"How are you feeling?" Mike asked tenderly, reaching out to stroke back a few stray strands of hair that had fallen onto her forehead.

He was shocked when she flinched. That was new.

"Sorry…" Rebecca whispered, "It's just…well, he…"

"It's okay," Mike said, sitting beside her bed, "I understand, sweetie."

Mike tried to think of what to say. What did you say to someone who had been so horrifically abused? To a rape victim? He'd done it before…as a cop. But never like this. He wasn't here as a cop. And for the first time, he realized that this would be harder than he thought.

"Listen, Detectives Eames and Goren are going to be investigating your case. They're friends of mine, and they're very nice, okay?" Mike said, "They're going to charge your mother with neglect and child abuse."

Rebecca nodded slowly.

"I'm scared that she might hurt me again." Rebecca whispered, "What if they can't arrest her? What if she gets out on bail?"

"Shhh." Mike said gently, wanting with every fiber of his soul to reach out and comfort her, but knowing it was a bad idea, "I won't let anyone hurt you."

Mike felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and he realized Carolyn had walked into the room, followed by Alex and Bobby, Mariette standing in the doorway.

"Rebecca," Carolyn said softly, gesturing to Alex "This is Detective-"

"Alex." Alex said, a gentle, motherly smile on her face as she looked down at Rebecca, "I'm Alex, and that's Bobby. We're detectives. I know you're not feeling too well, but do you think you're up to answering a few questions for us?"

Rebecca nodded, fear in her eyes; well-hidden fear that flickered off and on in an instantwhen her glance drifted to Bobby. The type of fear that only Bobby Goren would pick up on.

"Don't be scared, Rebecca," He said softly, compassion shining in his blue eyes, "We're here to help you, okay?"

She nodded.

"I'll be right outside if you need me, alright?" Mike said, concern thick in both his eyes and voice.

"Same here." Carolyn said quietly.

Carolyn, Mike, and Mariette all filed into the hall, closing the door behind them, leaving Rebecca alone with Alex and Bobby.

Alex took the chair Mike had been occupying, while Bobby chose to try and maintain a non-threatening position, sittingin a chair atthe end of the bed.

"Do you prefer Rebecca, Becky, or Becca?" Alexandra asked, smiling.

"Rebecca." She replied softly.

"Okay. Rebecca. I know this is hard, but just take your time, and if you need to take a break, just tell us." Alex said, loathing the people who had put such ayoung girl through all of this. "We talked to your doctor, and he said there was evidence that your hands had been tied for an extended period of time. How long were you in the closet for?"

"Four days."

Bobby felt sick, which surprised him. He handled some of New York's worst criminals on a daily basis; he hadn't expected this kind of reaction from himself.

"Was it locked?"

"Yes…it locks from outside."

"Was this the first time your mother locked you in there?" Bobby said gently, speaking up for the first time.

"…No…" Rebecca said, her voice shaking.

"What else did your mother do to you, honey?" Alex asked.

"She…umm…she…"

Rebecca's breathing became labored, her voice cracking, her eyes downcast. Bobby tilted his head slightly, trying to catch her eye.

"Rebecca…" He said softly, trying to come up with some sort of comforting or soothing thought, "Whatever it was? It can't hurt you anymore."

Alex looked over at him, slightly surprised by her partner's compassion for the teenager. Although she'd initially found Bobby to be peculiar and on the borderline of anti-social, she'd also known him to be a man full of compassion, both for some of the offenders, and the victims. But, she'd never seen him affected like this by a case.

Then again, neither of them were especially used to living victims.

"She…oh, God…she made me…work as a…"

Alex felt her temperature begin to rise with anger, knowing what Rebecca was going to say before she said it.

"I didn't want to…but she said I was old enough now…and…that I didn't have a choice."

Rebecca said, closing her eyes, "It paid for the drugs she used."

Alex closed her eyes, wanting so badly to help her, hold her, let all of this be done and behind her, hating that she couldn't stop it, was completely powerless…

"So your mom used drugs?" Bobby said, continuing when Rebecca nodded, "Do you know what she was using?"

"Coke," Rebecca whispered, her voice breaking, her eyes still closed, "Cocaine and heroin."

Outside Rebecca's hospital room, Mike was deep in conversation with Mariette about the process of temporary licensing.

"Well, Mike," Mariette said, after Mike having insisted that she call him that over 'detective', "Your partner has made it very clear to me that she believes you should be the one to foster Rebecca."

Mike made a quick mental note to thank Carolyn.

"After having seen you with Rebecca for the brief moment I did, I see no reason to disagree." Mariette said to Mike, opening her briefcase, "I need you to fill out this application. I'll start putting the paperwork through as soon as possible. Temporary license is only good for three months, so before then, you will have to undergo training, an interview, and a home inspection before you can have general licensing."

Mariette stood, along with Mike, who shook her hand before watching her leave.

Mike smiled at Carolyn, who was sitting across from them, her rosary in her hands, head bowed. He wondered if he'd ever told her how beautiful she looked when she was talking about her faith. It reminded him of a part of him that had lost.

He didn't know when exactly it was he'd stopped believing in God. He knew when he was younger, he had believed. There was a time when he'd prayed. When he'd believed in it all.

He wished, in a way, that he still could. He was positive that some parts of his life would be better if he had a form of faith to turn to; faith in something better and more powerful than himself. And as he sat there, looking at her, he felt for the first time in a long time, a sense of faith in something greater than himself.

He didn't know how long he sat there like that, but a question was lingering in his mind.

"Caro?" Mike said once she finally looked up from her vigil, "Did you really mean what you said…about helping me?"

"Every word," Carolyn said, a soft smile spreading across her features, "Every word."

* * *

AN: Thanks so much for all the reviews, you guys! I really appreciate them, still love getting them, so please keep reviewing! I love getting input from all of you! And if anyone has some suggestions as to how I could better write Goren (who, I have concluded, is a really tough character to write...:P), please share! 


	3. Bruises

**AN:** Hi kids. Once again, I just want to let it be known how much I appreciate the very kind reviews you all have sent me, and all suggestions etc., which have been offered. I am truly flattered. 

You're all allowed to kick my butt for how long it's taken me to update. Writer's block sucks.

Please review. Make me happy. The more you review, the more I write, and if you like it and want updates, that way we all win. Yay!

**Disclaimer: **Hail Dick, full of wisdom, the Lord has blest thee…

**Rating: **PG-13 for a use of the f word, and sensitive subject matter.

**Spoilers:** Still the same. Mike's family background and childhood circumstances, along with some mentions of background info about Alex and Bobby

**Dedication:** For 'The Confused One' for all the support and encouragement.

* * *

**Office of Mariette Henderson**

**Wednesday, July 12th, 3:00 PM**

Mariette smiled at Mike Logan as he walked through her office door.

"Mike," Mariette said, "Thanks for coming at such short notice. Have a seat."

Mike did his best to smile at the women, but the only emotion he felt at the current moment was panic from wondering what had gone wrong. He had filed the application, delivered it to her personally, done his best in every way…

"Okay," Mariette said, "I don't want you to worry, Mike. Some things came up while I read your application and I felt it necessary to schedule this interview with you. No reason to panic, okay? Firstly…schooling. You listed 'various possibilities'. Care to elaborate?"

"I'd like to enroll her in private school," Mike said, "I have some savings set aside which I figured I could use for tuition, so I'm looking through various prep schools."

Mike had almost laughed at the irony when he found himself searching private schools in his area. Private Catholic schools, he had noted, were the ones with lower tuition rates.

"Your…family background, Mike," Mariette said softly, "I won't lie to you. It's iffy. With a family history of alcoholism and violence…generally, that's a red flag, but I'd like to hear what you have to say about it."

Mike sighed, closed his eyes, counted to ten. The past was the past. This was now. He was safe, there was a child who wasn't, and if it meant going outside of his comfort levels to protect her, so be it.

"It is true that both my parents were alcoholics, and that my mother…beat me growing up." Mike said softly, his voice remaining calm, "However, _I_ am not an alcoholic. I do on occasion have a couple drinks, but drinking has never been a problem for me. I do have a history of getting in fights as a child, and I do have several police brutality complaints on my file. While most of them were dismissed, I think it's necessary to point out that it was all done to suspects or perpetrators, or people who tried to stop the police from stopping criminals. People who harmed other people. I have never done violence to a child since I was more than one myself, and I certainly have no intentions of starting now."

Mariette nodded, the answer satisfying her. The truth was, she doubted that she would be able to find someone who would- and could- care for Rebecca as Mike could. For one, Rebecca already had begun a process of trust with Mike, and for another, the references he had listed were impeccable, all saying the same thing: that they had complete confidence in Mike's ability to raise a child.

"You listed agnostic as your religious affiliation," Mariette said, flipping through the application, "Are you aware that Rebecca is Catholic?"

"I am. I have no problem with it. I've known many great people who were and are devout Catholics, including Carolyn, who," Mike said, with a small chuckle, "I'm sure would be more than happy to get Rebecca involved within the Church."

Mariette smiled. Another plus for him. He had already begun to think of the needs she might have that he couldn't fulfill.

"Suppose you do become her foster parent," Mariette said, "Do you have any idea as to how you will help her overcome the inevitable trauma that has occurred from all she had gone through?"

Mike forced back the smirk he felt coming on. Did he have any ideas after not being able to force himself to think of something else for the last two days?

"Yes," He said, keeping his voice respectful, knowing that Mariette was only looking out for things that would be important for Rebecca, "I called Elizabeth Olivet…the psychologist I listed as a reference, who has agreed to meet with Rebecca at a minimum of once a week. I also spoke to my Captain, who has agreed to give me two weeks leave if I am approved, so I can for that time frame, devote myself to helping her full-time, and after that, I will still continue to do so to the fullest extent that I can."

Mariette simply stared for a moment. This man was either too good to be true, or well trained in giving people the answers they wanted.

"Rebecca's fifteen. She is old enough to be on her own during the day, but suppose you get called into work at night. Do you have arrangements with someone to stay with her?"

"I'll admit that I hadn't though of that yet," Mike said, "But, I would probably leave her with Marie Jackson, a women who lives next door to me. Rebecca already knows and likes her, and if Marie was unable to take her, I guess I would just take her with me, since we do have sleeping accommodations at the precinct."

It was Mariette's turn to force back the smirk. Her earlier suspicions had been confirmed…

"Just one more question. If you are indeed entrusted with what can be an incredibly overwhelming task…how do you plan to get guidance or support for yourself?"

"In addition to promising me however many sessions a week she felt Rebecca may need, Elizabeth also asked me to take weekly sessions, which I agreed to."

Mariette sat back in her chair, studying Mike for a moment. From the moment the middle-aged social worker had looked at Rebecca Andrews, she had known that, however many battered children she had worked with…this girl was another story. Mariette did not want to let Rebecca face the horrors of group homes. Rooms filled with cots. A chance of her having bad foster parents.

"I made several calls today myself, Mike." Mariette said to the man sitting across from her, "One of which was to Dr. Netza, who, as I'm sure you know, is Rebecca's doctor. He told me that he'd release her tomorrow morning, at which time either her foster guardian or myself were to come get her."

"In other words?" Mike said, feeling slightly ill.

"In other words, Mike," Mariette said, leaning towards him, "Be at Saint Mark's by ten tomorrow morning to pick up your foster daughter."

* * *

**Wednesday, July 12th, 6:01 **

She'd been sitting at her desk this time when the call came to her cell phone, around three-twenty, she was guessing. This time, there wasn't fear, panic, or frustration in his voice. This time, it was joy, as he spoke three words which she knew would change both their lives. Three words which had given her a sense of renewed hope; of faith that good things still happened in a world that had so much evil.

"_I've been approved."_

Carolyn found herself smiling at the obvious joy in his voice; honestly unable to remember if she had ever seen or heard Mike the way he'd been over the last few days. It was definitely a side of him that she'd never seen except for the odd moment spent questioning either witnesses or victims. For the most part in their partnership, it was her job to be compassionate, his job to be a combination of tough, intimidating and…at times, downright mean.

And although she had to admit that his attempts at being a tough-guy were cute to her, she loved seeing this side of Mike Logan. The tough-guy was cute. But his softer side…that was the part of him that drew her to him. The repressed, rarely brought out, yet nevertheless present side of Mike Logan that supported the victims; protected the citizens of New York.

"_Mike, that's so great,"_ She had responded, smiling.

And she had meant it. It was great- for Rebecca, and for him.

She'd frozen for a brief moment when he asked her to come over once she was done at work. She'd told him she'd do her best. Here she was, parked outside his apartment. With butterflies in her stomach.

"You idiot," She muttered to herself, "This is so ridiculous. You don't _get_ butterflies."

Besides, he was her partner. Even if she could find herself liking a man like Mike Logan…he was her partner.

With that thought in her head, she walked to his building, waited for him to buzz her in, then strode through the door of his apartment,

"Hey, Care!" Mike said, greeting her as she walked in.

"Hey, Mikey." Carolyn responded, using the nickname that she knew he despised being called. The one only she was allowed to call him.

He would deck anyone other than her that dared call him that; it was just a fact. However, when it came to her, he merely raised an eyebrow before turning and walking towards his kitchen.

"You're not turning into Goren on me, are ya?" Carolyn called, smirking when Mike looked back at her in horror, "Oh, good."

"You'd rather have the ticking time bomb than the human polygraph?" Mike said, opening his fridge, "You're one of a kind, Barek. Want something to drink?"

Carolyn shook her head, sitting across from him at the table.

"So, did you talk to Rebecca?" She asked, the two of them sharing a smile as Mike nodded, "What did she have to say?"

"She smiled." Mike said, an emotion that Carolyn couldn't identify rising in his eyes, "For the first time since I've been around her…she smiled."

Mike had spent the last few days at Rebecca's bedside, holding her hand, coaxing her to eat, and reassuring her when she had nightmares. He'd waited, hoped for, almost prayed for any sign that she was beginning to trust him. And they had come, slowly. She didn't flinch when he took her hand, and her anxiety attacks were fewer when he was there with her. Still, he hadn't been sure.

And then that sign had been given to him. A quick, true flash of joy in his foster daughter's eyes when he'd asked her if she'd like to live with him. The smile that had spread across her features when she said yes.

He'd been so scared for her over the time she'd been in the hospital; been scared when he'd glance at her sunken stomach as she'd say over and over that she wasn't hungry. He'd felt fear fill him when Bobby and Alex had filed out of her room, both looking older then he'd ever seen them, the slightest trace of tears in Alex's eyes. He'd been afraid as he'd held her after she woke up from nightmare after nightmare; been fearful himself as he softly reassured her through frequently occurring panic attacks.

But, when that smile had spread across her face, for the first time, Mike wasn't afraid for her. Tonight, he wasn't afraid. He knew he'd gotten himself into something that wouldn't be easy. But, tonight, for the first time, Mike Logan had complete faith that Rebecca would recover. Her sunken stomach would fill out in time, the bruises that covered her both physically and psychologically would go away in time.

It would all be okay. She would be okay.

Looking at Carolyn, Mike saw the same joy he felt reflecting in her eyes, and then, before either of the two could totally comprehend what was happening, they found themselves standing in a tight embrace in the middle of Mike's kitchen.

"I'm so happy for you…for her…" Carolyn whispered, joyful tears welling in her eyes, feeling every word coming from her soul, "You're going to be a wonderful foster father, Mike."

"Thanks for everything, Caro." Mike said back, holding her tighter for a brief moment before he let her go, then deciding to change the subject, "Did you eat yet?"

Carolyn shook her head.

"Why don't you look through the takeout menus? They're on top of the fridge. Just take your pick. I need to clean the spare bedroom…"

Carolyn smiled at him as he walked towards the room that would be Rebecca's. Then, she walked to the fridge, her eyes widening when she saw the huge stack of paper on the fridge.

"Shit, Logan, do you have takeout information on every damn restaurant in Manhattan!" Carolyn called out, her voice taking on a humorous sort of note.

"Hey, that's not fair," Mike called back indignantly, "I cook…sometimes."

"Neighbors probably begged you to stop," Carolyn muttered, searching through the leaflets, "How's Mexican sound to you?"

"Perfecto!" Mike called back. "Want me to call it in?"

Carolyn rolled her eyes lightly.

"I'm a woman, Logan, not an invalid. I can call. What do you want?"

* * *

**Marcello's Bar and Grill**

**Wednesday, July 12th, 7:15 PM**

**Manhattan, New York**

Alex looked blankly across the table at Bobby, who was decidedly avoiding her gaze. She could honestly say that Bobby Goren was a close friend, but God…there were times when she didn't understand him.

"Tough one." She said quietly, hoping he'd open up.

"Yeah," Bobby said, still avoiding her gaze.

She hated it when he did that. With everyone else…he'd get in their faces, never look away, stare, practically fucking _penetrate_ people with his gaze. Yet at times, he wouldn't even look at her.

"Bobby." Alex said softly, her shoulders relaxing slightly as he looked at her, "We've been partners for five years. Don't you know by now that you're allowed to open up to me?"

Bobby looked down, a single eyebrow arched, clearly deep in thought.

"It's just…ugh…drug addiction…alcoholism…schizophrenia…they're all diseases. And her father…well…"

"You were only a little younger." Alex prodded gently.

"Yeah." Bobby said, "This…this one hit hard."

Alex watched as some of the tension slowly drained from his shoulders.

"What about you?" Bobby said softly, "I know there were some problems with…who was it? Your aunt that was an alcoholic?"

Alex swallowed the lump in her throat, hating how he always understood; how he always knew.

"It definitely brought up some stuff I'd rather forget," She said softly, "But…you know…my aunt never took a cigarette and burned me. She was never 'Madame'. She didn't make me do things so she could get another drink."

With that, Alex downed the shot that was in front of her, forced it back before tears could come to her eyes, but knowing that it was pointless, since already they were there.

"It hurts more than anything to think of what she's going through," Alex said softly, "More than any of the memories I've known…it hurts to realize that an innocent, defenseless…little girl…has gone through all that."

Bobby reached out for her hand, and for that moment, Alex gave in to his understanding look; his attempts at comfort.

"Alex," Bobby said, "Mike has her now. She'll never have to live in fear of beatings or rape…ever again. We got her in time, Alex. Mike got her, we'll get her justice. Mike will help her through this. So will Carolyn. So will we."

Alex nodded, quickly wiping away the tears.

"You're right, Bobby." She said, squeezing his hand tighter, "You're right. Now, let's get out of here before I take another shot of liquor and you have to drag me out."

* * *

**Saint Mark's Hospital**

**Thursday, July 13th, 9:50 AM**

"Hey, Becky." Mike said, his low voice at a reassuring pitch as he gently patted her shoulder, then smiled at Mariette, "Hi, Ms. Henderson."

"Mariette," She corrected, standing, and then looking down at Rebecca, who was sitting on the side of her hospital bed, "Are you ready to go, my dear?"

When Rebecca nodded, Mariette patted her hand, her smile reassuring.

"I'll drop by to see how you're doing in a couple days."

"Thanks," Rebecca said softly, her eyes downcast, "I know you've gone above and beyond with this."

"You don't have to thank me, sweetie," Mariette replied, "But, you're welcome, just the same."

As Mariette left the room, Mike looked at Rebecca. The sweater, despite its small size, still appeared huge on her, emphasizing even more how thin she was. It covered her arms; covered the cigarette burns, the cuts, most of the bruises. The ones on her face were fading slowly.

He only wondered how long it would be, if ever, before the cuts; the bruises left on her soul could mend.

"Let's go home." He said tenderly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.


	4. Tears

**AN: **Umm…writer's block sucks. It's taken me forever to write this chapter (I re-wrote it about ten times), so…yeah. Sorry so long for an update; I hope everyone keeps reading! The next chapter will be heavy with Bobby/Alex content, I promise. :)

**Warning: **I do want to say that some parts of this chapter could likely be disturbing/upsetting as it does contain several flashbacks. I always write flashbacks/memories in the form of dreams, in italics, and if you are easily upset, I'd recommend skipping over them.

**Residence of Mike Logan**

**Thursday, July 13th, 10:40 AM**

"Okay," Mike said, closing his apartment door behind him, "Why don't you have a seat in the living room, and we'll have a talk. Do you want something to drink, honey?"

Rebecca shook her head, sitting on the couch as he'd asked her to. Mike got himself a glass of water, and then joined her.

"I'm really glad you're going to be staying with me, Becky, and I hope you'll be really happy here. There's just a couple things we need to talk about." Mike said, thinking of what to say as fear flickered in her eyes, "Don't worry. You're not in trouble. Okay?"

"…Okay…" Rebecca said shakily.

"I know you're Catholic, so I thought I'd try to get you enrolled in Catholic school. Would you like that?"

"Yes." Rebecca replied, her eyes downcast.

"I also spoke to one of my friends. Her name is Elizabeth, and she's a psychologist. I'd like for you to talk to her. She's really nice, and very helpful. I booked appointments for both of us tomorrow morning."

"Okay." Rebecca said, forcing herself to look up, distance still dominating her eyes; mistrust abundant.

"I can't think of many things I need to tell you in the ways of rules," Mike said, "I don't bring my gun home, so I don't have to warn you about touching that. If I'm at work during the day, and you want to go somewhere, you can reach me on my cell phone. Do you have any questions, Becky? Anything you want to ask about anything you think I might expect?"

Rebecca merely shrugged.

"Whatever you expect, I'll do." She responded, "I don't really care, Mike."

It broke Mike's heart to see the vulnerability in her eyes; knowing what she said was true. He could ask her to do anything, and she would just do it.

The breakdown of a child's psyche; the degradation of a kid's spirit…it had always been a mystery to him how it happened; had been a mystery even though he himself had been down that road.

And he knew, deep down, that the only way he could help Rebecca right now was by remembering. It was through remembering the trauma that he could remember healing. And probably only through remembering the way he'd begun to heal that he could help her.

"What do you think I'd…_expect_ of you?" Mike asked, his voice gentle.

Rebecca shrugged again, her eyes darkening.

"What most men do."

Mariette had informed Mike of all she could about Rebecca's case, but had admitted that there were things that Rebecca hadn't opened up to either her or Alex and Bobby about.

"What did they make you do, Rebecca?" Mike said.

Instantly, she started trembling; shivering beyond control, distance in her eyes…she was back there…she was back there!…they were…God, no…no, don't let him, please…and now someone was persistently calling her name…Rebecca…Rebecca…Rebecca…

"Rebecca!"

She shook herself back to reality, her eyes going from distanced to fearful, Mike's changing from desperation to understanding.

"…Sorry…" She said softly.

"No, honey," Mike said, "_I'm_ sorry. We don't have to talk about what happened right now, okay? You can tell me when you're ready."

"You're not like most men, are you?" She said, fear still dominant in her eyes, "What _do_ you expect of me?"

"I expect you to be who you are, Becky," Mike said softly, "Look at me. You're a good kid. I know that. I'm not going to list off a million rules for you to follow because I trust you to not do stupid things. Just one rule, okay? No hurting yourself."

Rebecca nodded, agreeing.

"I know you're scared, sweetheart. But you don't have to be. You're safe now. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I promise you. And I want you to know something, okay? If you ever want to talk to me, you can. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

**Residence of Mike Logan**

**11:10 PM**

_The clock at my bedside reads 11:40 PM. I'm sitting on my bed, choking back the fear as I sit here in a black, lace mini-dress. I can hear mom and Martin talking outside of my room, another voice joining the ones of my mother, and my pimp._

_And despite the heat of the room, I start to shiver. _

_Mom walks into my room, looks at the dress I selected, and nods approvingly._

"_You're a beautiful girl, Becca."_

_I nod, choking on my fear as I sit up. Mom puts her hand over mine._

"_After this, it'll be over for a while, okay? His name is John, and he's paid for two days."_

_I nod. It registers, and yet it doesn't._

_Martin walks in as she walks out._

"_Remember our policy, Becca. For the next ten hours, he owns you, and you **will** do whatever he wants you to."_

_He leaves, and John walks in, carrying a bag with him._

"_Becca," He says._

_I force back my fear, doing what I know has to be done. There's no choice. _

"_Hi John. Well…most men I can read right away, but you, sir, are a different story." I force a smile, flirting._

"_Aren't you sweet?" He says, something in his voice scaring me even more, "Why don't you lay down, and we'll have some fun?"_

_I do so, my fear constricting my throat to the point that I'm gasping for air. He takes rope out of the bag, tying my hands and ankles to the bedposts, leaving me spread-eagled. _

"_Hmmm…what are you gonna do to me, John?" I force out flirtatiously._

_"Better question," John says to me, holding up a broom handle, "What should I do with this?"_

_And that's when my fear takes over. I start to cry- pleading, desperate sobs._

"_John…don't…please…no…"_

"_That's more like it," He responds, laughing, slowly moving the handle up my leg "Let's see what else you can do."_

**Residence of Mike Logan**

**Thursday, July 13th, 11:40 PM**

Mike woke, startled, from where he lay on his couch, to the sound of soft cries from Rebecca's room. Hurrying to the end of the hall, Mike threw open the door, revealing Rebecca, who was sitting up in her bed, her knees pulled to her chest as she rocked back and forth, the bedside lamp turned on.

Upon seeing Mike, Rebecca openly shivered, the fear in her eyes doubling.

"I'm sorry," She said softly, trying the approach she had, Mike was sure, used with her mother, her mother's boyfriend, and dozens of other men who had done God only knew what to her.

Mike was unsure of what to do- approach her when she was clearly so afraid, or leave her here like this…alone. In the end, though, he knew, he wouldn't be able to leave her like this even if he wanted to. The decision was made.

"Please…please…I'm sorry," She whispered, her pleas becoming more and more desperate as Mike walked towards her; involuntarily cowering as she looked up at him, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I…"

She broke off into a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob as Mike reached out to touch her; broke off into a sound that broke his heart.

Moving his hand away and kneeling in front of her, Mike tried to think of what to say; tried to find the words.

"What's wrong, Becky?" He asked softly, on the verge of tears at her shudders, her downcast eyes.

"You'll hurt me." She whimpered.

"No." Mike said gently, shaking his head, sincerity shining in his eyes.

Slowly but decidedly, Mike reached out and caressed Rebecca's cheek. Rebecca closed her eyes and let herself revel in the feeling- the gentle, fatherly touch. A moment of comfort and security that she had never known. A loving, parental touch had been few and far between, usually after the worst nights spend with mean who all too often didn't want a woman they could sleep with- they paid for a woman, or girl, who they could brutalize; torture; degrade; defile. All so her mother could support her habits.

Rebecca had never known with her mother. On the nights Rebecca had woken up screaming, there were times when her mother would be at her side in a moment, kissing her forehead, stroking her hair. More often than not, though, the punishment for a scream was a couple cigarette burns; a bruise on her face; a cut on her arm.

Remembering, a tear began to fall down her face before she could force it back. She moved to wipe it away, but Mike beat her to it, gently wiping it away, then stroking her cheek one last time before moving his hand to his side.

"Rebecca, I want you to look at me."

"I'm scared."

"I know you are, kiddo, and that's okay. But there's nothing to be scared of. Come on. Open your eyes."

Slowly, Rebecca lifted her eyes to meet Mike's, surprised to find only love and understanding in them in replacement of the anger she'd been so used to with other men she'd been with.

"Good girl," he said, taking her hands in his own, "Now, tell me what happened."

"I dreamed…back there…he was…surrounding me…forcing…inside me…"

Mike stroked back her hair, dreading the answer to the next question he knew he had to ask.

"How long did he have you, sweetheart?"

"Two days."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not ready…" Rebecca said softly, ashamed.

"Okay," Mike responded, "I understand."

He stood, getting ready to leave, when one final thought crossed his mind.

"You're allowed to cry, you know." He said, his voice tender, "If you need to cry, cry. Go on, Rebecca. Have a good cry. There's no weakness in that."

She nodded almost unnoticeably, her eyes remaining dry.

"Let it go, my love. You'll feel better."

Slowly, her face started to crumple, and for the first time since after Mike had first found her, Rebecca began to cry- deep, tortured desperate cries.

And Mike, knowing there were a million and one things he could say, chose to say nothing. Despite all he could say, there still weren't the right words. So Mike, remaining silent, sat down beside her on the bed, rocking her gently in his arms, as several of his own tears fell.


	5. Prayer

**AN: **Thanks for the reviews, everyone. I love you guys! This chapter is, as promised, higher in Goren/Eames content. Enjoy! Please review!

**Spoilers: **'In the Wee Small Hours'

**Warning: **This chapter is high in semi-philosophical and/or religious content. If mentions of God/Catholicism will offend you…skip this chapter.

**Major Case Squadroom (IPP)**

**Friday, July 14th, 11:43 AM**

**Alex Eames' POV**

Sitting across from my partner, it's possible to feel a tidal wave of emotions. There is so much more to Robert Goren than what meets the eye. _So_ much more. When I first met him, I saw what most people see: intimidation. A human being who can have a talent like no other for driving people up the wall.

And then…who can say what happened? I guess it would be fair to say I met my _partner _instead of a fellow detective. He went from Robert to Bobby…my partner…to a dear friend. A friend I would entrust my very life to at any given moment.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks me, and I smirk.

"You."

Bobby raises an eyebrow, his eyes meeting mine.

"Do tell."

I've never been big on voicing my emotion; on wasting breath and time on sappy, sentimental thoughts when there is work to be done. Cases with kids are all too often the only things that force emotion out of me at a rate that can petrify me.

"Cases like these always remind me how lucky I am…how _glad _I am that I withdrew that letter. Because…I know you, Bobby. Even though we haven't been able to locate Rebecca's mother yet…I know that you can nail this bitch."

"That _I_ can nail this bitch?" Bobby says back to me, "Give yourself some credit, Alex. Yeah, I have a high conviction rate. It increased after I was partnered with you. You _and_ I are going to nail this woman."

A moment of silence passes between my partner and I. Despite my gratitude for him, as I look at the case notes, the photographs spread out on the table between him and I, and I realize that uniforms are still out looking for Leona Andrews, my wrath finally breaks free as I jump up from the table, punching it.

"Damnit, Bobby, she was just a kid! Her mother's been gone for at least four days, and if Mike hadn't found Rebecca, she would have died! I don't just want to get Leona Andrews off the streets, _I want her dead_!" I say, my voice rising with every syllable until I'm just shy of screaming.

"Alex…" Bobby says, his voice as soft as mine was deafening.

He moves to me, reaches out to hold me, and that's when a part of me breaks.

"No," I whisper, "Bobby…don't."

If anyone should be receiving comfort right now, it isn't me. It's Rebecca.

He ignores my plea, pulling me into an embrace I've seen him hold his mother in- one meant to protect; to shield from pain; to reassure.

And for one brief, quick moment I let down my guard and cry in the arms of the man I trust more than anyone else on this earth, praying to a God whose existence I question that He'll give us a miracle.

**Carmel Ridge Center**

**Friday, July 14th, 6:31 PM**

**Bobby Goren's POV**

"Hi, mom." I whisper, stooping down to kiss my mother on the cheek, "How are you?"

"I'm doing good today, dear. But what about you, Bobby? You look tired."

"I'm fine," I respond, then quickly change the topic, "Alex says to say hello."

Mom beams, and I smile, not able to resist the joy of knowing that my mother, in the few times she's seen Alex, loves her like the daughter she never had.

"Tell our Ally hello back, and that I'd love to see her again whenever she can drop by."

I smile again. Mom is good today; the effects of the illness that slowly take her from me next to non-existent. On days like today, it's so much easier to remember her as my mother. On days like today, I can remember the good in my childhood, and that remembrance is a welcome relief from the things that went wrong; memories fueled by investigating the abuse Rebecca Andrews has been put through.

There was good in my childhood. For all the bad, for all the fear, there was good, and it's worth remembering the pain to remember the good. When my mother's mind wasn't ravaged with her illness, she was an ideal mother. And even the illness cannot take that away from me…her love, the smile; the beam of pride on her face when I served at mass for the first time.

I hung up the server robe for the last time when she got so unwell she could no longer go to mass on a weekly basis. She had loved mass, and all I could think in my youth was that if there was a God, a supreme being of love, He'd forgotten of my mother's existence- and mine.

And despite my lack of belief in His existence, I couldn't stop myself from praying to Him when mom would lock me in her prayer closet, insisting that the devil was trying to conquer me and that it would take all the prayers I could send up to the Lord to drive the devil away from me.

I would pray in my mother's prayer closet, pray that God would cure her, that God would remove evil from me.

And even though God never cured her…once her episode would cease- sometimes minutes, sometimes hours; on occasion days later- she would run to the closet and hold me; thank God that she had me; whisper she was sorry; whisper that she loved me.

Maybe it's thanks to those moments that I never lost my faith.

"Your thoughts are racing, my boy. I can see it. What are you thinking about?"

"Mom," I say softly; inquiring, "Do you still pray?"

"Every day, my dear. I pray for you. I pray for Alex. I pray for your father, may God bless his soul. I pray for your brother."

"Pray with me, then?" I ask, my voice taking on an almost childish tone of questioning; a timid inflection.

I can't do it on my own. I haven't prayed in years. But right now, I need to. The faith of my childhood…the _prayers_ of my childhood…at times I yearn for that child-like sense of faith. That, despite the conditions I was praying under, I was able to have those moments of comfort and security in prayer. I was scared, yes, and indeed, I cried on occasion when I'd hear mom screaming from outside the closet.

And then I would clutch mom's rosary tighter, pray with more urgency to Mother Mary and Father God. And in those moments, through the fear would come the sense that I would be okay.

My mother takes my hand, and together we softly chant the prayer she taught me from earliest childhood. _Our Father, which art in heaven…_I need that sense of security, of comfort; need it so I can pass it on to Rebecca.

My voice cracks, and my mother finishes the prayer alone, crossing herself upon its completion.

For all I've been through…Rebecca's been through worse, and…that realization cuts deeper than any of my memories of pain; of fear.

"I love you, mom." I whisper, "I love you."

**Saint Mark's Catholic Church**

**Friday, July 14th, 8:57 PM**

**Carolyn Barek's POV**

The sanctuary of Saint Mark's Catholic Church has been a constant realm of light in my life. My hope in despair. My refuge when things outside of these four walls are too crazy.

When I was a child, my mother taught me that the very walls of the Catholic Church, regardless of the building, were love. The structure behind the very religion was love, and peace, and serenity.

That lesson, I have taken with me for all of my life. It's the one thing that keeps me strong in times of weakness. Having this love to turn to; having a supreme God to whom I can tell anything.

I have no idea how people can live without faith. In the times when I have lost mine…well, those times have been the darkest of my life. Not because of events, but because I had nothing to turn to; no one to ask for guidance; no Supreme God who was good and holy and loving. The times when I couldn't find it within myself to pray were the loneliest of my life.

I've prayed a lot over the last few days. I've never been able to understand…how any human being can cause such suffering to another. I mean, indeed, yes; I understand the psychology of it. I know how it occurs. But _why_ is another question- one that is too big for me, one that I often ask God.

I've come to God over the years in a million different states of mind- full of hope, sorrow, joy, pain, compassion, apathy. Tonight, I come to Him in a whole new frame of mind- anger. Tonight, not even the love and serenity that surround me in this building can curb the anger. I stare at the crucifix, my hatred scaring me.

"How?" I yell, my voice taking on an almost mocking state "With all the power You have, couldn't You have done _something_ just a **little** sooner? Did she really have to suffer for that long? How could you? How could you? She was just a child! She's just a child!"

And after I scream that last thought to the God I thought I'd always love, I wonder if this is how Christ felt when he said "Father, why hast thou forsaken me?"

I mean…I am not the one who's been forsaken. My parents prayed for children; they loved me; they taught me to believe that God would love me.

How did Rebecca hold onto her faith? I never would have.

"You abandoned her," I hiss, on my knees in the middle of the aisle, "You left her there just as much as her mother did. _You abandoned her._"

"I hate you." I whisper to Him, "I hate you."

**Residence of Mike Logan**

**Friday, July 14th, 11:59 PM**

**Mike Logan's POV**

"I love you, Rebecca." I whisper, pulling the covers up to her chin, silently thanking Elizabeth for the sleeping pills she'd given Becky; pills finally taking effect.

Now I can only hope that her sleep will be peaceful.

Walking to my room, I find myself doing something I haven't done in years.

I kneel at my bedside and close my eyes, my voice low.

"I don't know if You're there," I say, "Hell, I don't even know if I believe in You. But right now, I don't care either way. Help her. Help me. Help me to do this, because I can't do it on my own. After all the shit in my life that's gone down that You seem to have not noticed, You can at least give me this: help me to love her enough."

In this moment, I realize one thing. I'm lying when I say I'm an agnostic.

I'm not an agnostic.

I just hate God.

**AN:** In hopes of relieving my catholic guilt…I don't hate God. But I think Mike does. So I wrote it. And Caro angst is good times, so...


	6. Hysteria

**AN: **I love you guys! Seriously, no lie, you are all so supportive, and I'm so thankful. Unfortunately, my updates might be slightly more infrequent because school has started. It's junior year for me, homework is insane, and when I'm not doing homework, extra-curricular drama is ruling my life.

**Warning: **This chapter is rated **M.** It contains graphic content, and strong language, emphasis on strong.

**Dedication: **This one goes out to nickysbabygirl for giving me a brilliant suggestion which has helped me very much in bridging what has happened in this story, and what will happen. Also, to de wolf, for the reviews.

**---**

**Residence of Mike Logan**

**Monday, July 17th, 7:32 AM**

Mike groaned, hating his body's alarm clock for never allowing him the joy of sleeping in past seven…without a couple shots of hard vodka. Walking into the kitchen, he was surprised to find Rebecca sitting at the table, already up, dressed, and apparently showered.

"Morning, sunshine." Mike said, walking towards the kettle, "What has you up at this ungodly hour?"

"I couldn't sleep," Rebecca admitted, her eyes downcast, "So, I just got up."

"Breakfast-" Mike started, before Rebecca cut him off.

"I was just about to make it!" She cried, panicked as she jumped up, "Promise. What do you want?"

Mike felt the burning sensation in his eyes; one of repressed tears. One he found he was getting used to. Forcing himself to laugh instead in an attempt to reassure her, he spoke up.

"I meant _you_ should eat something, Rebecca," Mike said, "I have cereal, toast, oatmeal. I could make you pancakes if you want."

"Are you sure? It's fine, I don't mind making something." Rebecca said, still not meeting his eyes.

"Rebecca," Mike said, almost whispering her name as he gently lifted her chin, "I asked to foster you because I want to take care of you, okay? It's not supposed to be you taking care of me. I know you're used to having to look after your mom. You don't have to do that with me, okay?"

Rebecca nodded as Mike released his hold on her chin.

"So, what can I get you, Rebecca?"

"Becky." Rebecca whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"Becky." Rebecca repeated, "Can you call me Becky?"

Mike smiled at his foster daughter's first definite sign of trust.

"I think I can do that, kiddo." Mike responded, "We never talked about what you should call me, did we?"

Rebecca shook her head.

"Mike is fine if that's what you want to call me. Or you can call me Uncle Mike," Mike shut his eyes, pondering if it was wise to give her the option of the last title, deciding for it instead of against it, "I don't expect you to call me 'dad' right away. But if you ever, at any point, want to…you can."

Becky smiled in appreciation, but shook her head, knowing it was too soon.

"I'm going to stick with Mike for now."

"Mike will be great then." He said, "So, we have another appointment with Doctor Olivet at ten. I thought after that we could take care of registration at Saint Catherine's High School. Sound good?"

"Great." Rebecca responded.

"You know what?" Mike said, "There's a great café across the street, and I'm a pathetic cook."

Rebecca laughed softly.

"Okay."

---

**Office of Dr. Elizabeth Olivet**

**Monday, July 17th, 10:01 AM**

"Morning Mike." Elizabeth said from behind her desk, "Have a seat."

"Hi Liz…Dr. Oliv-"

"Liz will suffice." Elizabeth responded, her eyes sparkling, "How did the weekend go?"

"I think we're making progress," Mike admitted, "There have been a couple scares, but…well…she's doing as well as can be expected."

"What did you do over the weekend?" Elizabeth asked.

"Carolyn took her shopping on Saturday, so she finally has clothes that aren't oversized, and while they shopped, I did paperwork, and then Care took Becky to mass on Sunday morning, and then she came over and we…" Mike laughed, "We all sat around the kitchen table and played trivial pursuit."

Mike and Elizabeth shared a laugh.

"Who won?"

"Carolyn. I don't think I've ever met a woman that smart." Mike said, a smile creeping up on him, "Besides you, doc."

"It sounds like Carolyn's getting pretty involved in your life. How do you feel about that?"

Mike pondered this. Carolyn was his partner, his dearest friend…how did he feel about her playing surrogate mother to his foster daughter, about being with her outside of the office?

He didn't know. He'd known from the beginning that Carolyn Barek wasn't a woman to be messed with. If anything, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was without a doubt the most intelligent, compassionate woman Mike had ever known. But how did he feel? He thought it was a mystery until his subconscious mind-set took over and answered for him.

"Great."

**10:50 AM**

"Hi, Rebecca."

"Morning, Doctor."

Rebecca forced herself not to feel apprehensive. She'd always been interested in psychology, always found it fascinating. And yet, she found, when it came to getting her own head 'shrunk'…she was a mess.

"I usually don't do this," Elizabeth said, "But…why don't you call me Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth." Rebecca agreed, sitting down, feeling a more relaxed vibe from calling Elizabeth by her first name

"How are you today? Mike mentioned that you had a couple anxiety attacks over the weekend."

"Good. I'm feeling better now. Thanks…thanks for the sleeping pills" Rebecca said, blushing, "They helped."

"Mike tells me you asked him to call you Becky. What led to that?" The psychologist asked, smiling.

"It just seemed right," Rebecca admitted, "I mean…Outside of him…and maybe Carolyn…I still want it to be Rebecca, but…"

"What?" Elizabeth persisted.

Rebecca debated saying what was on her mind. It was too early to be sure. For all she knew…she could end up not being around Mike and Carolyn long enough to know.

It was dangerous to admit to it, she decided, but keeping it to herself would be all the more dangerous.

"I think I'm starting to trust them."

---

**OPP (Major Case)**

**1:13 PM**

"Coffee, Alex? Carolyn?" Bobby asked, heading for the pot.

"That's a negative." Alex said to Bobby, watching Carolyn nod in agreement. Their Squadroom was efficient in many areas. The coffee was, however, lacking.

"Wasn't Mike bringing Rebecca by to go over her statement?" Alex asked, looking to Carolyn.

"Yeah…he just called me. They'll be here…right now." Carolyn responded.

"Greetings all." Mike said.

"Hey, Mike." Carolyn said, her gaze then shifting to Rebecca, "Hi, beautiful."

"Hi, Carolyn." Rebecca said, attempting a smile.

"Hey, Rebecca," Alex said, smiling, "Wanna come with me, and we'll just go over your statement one more time?"

"Okay." Rebecca said, ever-present fear increasing.

Alex tentatively put an arm around the young woman, leading her to the nearest interview room, Bobby following.

"I'm worried about her, Carrie." Mike whispered.

"She's in good hands." Carolyn whispered back, "You know Bobby, and you know Alex. They would both die before doing anything that would hurt her."

Mike sighed, not sure if he was ready to voice his fear.

"It's not that I'm worried about. I mean, I'm _worried. _In general. I worry that she'll spend the rest of her life dealing with anxiety attacks, and repressed memories that resurface at the worst possible times. I'm worried that she'll always under-eat, and always have trust issues, confidence issues."

Carolyn closed her eyes, hating what she had to say; hating the truth.

"So am I, Mike. So am I."

---

"Okay, Rebecca. I know this is really hard, sweetie, but we need to talk about the things your mother made you do with men. Last time…you told us she solicited you. We need to know what you were forced to do after you were with men." Alex said, hating everything about this scenario.

She'd worked in Vice. For years. Trying to stop _this_ from happening. Trying to stop abuse of women. Not just prostitution- but degradation. And when it came to the kids…well, that was just hell.

"Take…as much time as you need." Bobby said, his voice soft.

"It wasn't my…mother that did the soliciting. It was her boyfriend…Martin. I don't know his last name," Rebecca said, looking at Bobby apologetically.

"That's okay," Bobby said, his voice low, "Just…just tell us what you know, and…and, well…we'll take it from there, sweetheart."

Rebecca nodded, blinking.

"They did it from the apartment on the weekends. The going rate was one hundred an hour. And…I'd sit in my bedroom while they'd talk business with…the, uh…clients. They were usually friends of Martin's that would keep coming back for more. So, on Friday and Saturday, I'd…give them what they wanted…"

"And what did they want?" Alex asked, wanting nothing more than to hug the girl sitting in front of her, take her out for ice cream, and try to make her laugh. Try to make her forget.

Bobby watched as Rebecca closed her eyes, clearly forced all emotion away, opened them, and began to speak in a voice completely devoid of feeling.

This was bad. This was going to be bad, and he knew it.

"They were mostly into S&M. Usually it was just the three guys…I don't know their names…one guy told me his name was John, I'm not sure if that's true. But, they'd pool their money and pay for Friday and Saturday night. And they'd…"

She couldn't do it. She couldn't hold back her pain anymore, and Bobby knew it, and yet he found himself wondering what was better- to let her continue in this trance-like state or to force her to feel it; to feel the pain; the agony; the suffering.

In the end, Rebecca decided for him. She took a deep breath, and continued to speak, the only sign of any emotion coming from her being the constant, involuntary shivering.

"They'd take me to their house…to the basement, which was an S&M dungeon. Sometimes Martin would come…and…they'd…gang-bang me. They…uh…they used to play this game, where they'd see who could make me cry the most."

Listening to Rebecca, all Alex could think was about how much she wanted to make the bastards cry. The death penalty would be too kind.

"Okay." Bobby said, "You said that Martin would sell you on Friday and Saturday. What about Sunday?"

Rebecca looked up from her trance-like state, tears filling her eyes.

"I…can't," She whispered, her voice broken, "I can't. I'm sorry. Please don't make me."

Kneeling in front of her, Alex put her hand on Rebecca's knee.

"It can't hurt you anymore than it already has." Alex said, her voice quiet.

"I can't!" Rebecca cried out, moving to run from the room.

Bobby, however, was prepared for that. Moving in front of her, he caught Rebecca, holding her in his arms as she cried; as she tried to get away.

"Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca," He said, his voice calm as he stopped her from running out, chanting her name, "Listen to me. Listen to me. Listen."

She fell to the ground, gave up her attempts to run from her past, and finally released it, sobbing. Alex watched as Bobby kneeled down on the ground; pulled the shaking girl into his arms; held her; cradled her.

Alex had always seen that side of her partner; had always known it was present within him. That despite her partner's large stature, that despite the fact he seemed invulnerable, there was that side of him; a side that was overwhelmingly gentle and loving. A side that took responsibility for things that were out of his control; who felt so much for the victims that often he had to turn his compassion off altogether to get the job done.

Yet to see that side manifest itself with the victims…at times it still surprised her, and this was one of those times. Because never- _never_ had she seen him this affected.

"No one's going to hurt you," Bobby whispered, "We're not going to hurt you. You're safe."

She shuddered, her shivering still abundant, and Bobby pulled his arms around her; held her closer.

"What happened on Sundays, Rebecca?"

"Martin," Rebecca whispered, still crying, "Martin would do things to me, and my mother would take pictures."

---

**Residence of Mike Logan**

**Monday, July 17th, 10:45 PM**

When she'd walked out of the interview room, and into his open arms, he'd seen the way her eyes had died. He had seen it; and he had cursed it. God only knew what it meant; God only knew the horrors that ran rampant through her mind.

And that just reminded Mike of all the reasons he hated God.

Carolyn, too, had seen the pain in Rebecca's eyes turn to death, had turned to Deakins, raised an eyebrow, and watched him nod. She had then taken her coat, wrapped it around Rebecca's shaking shoulders, and walked out with her and Mike.

The evening had passed in a blur. Rebecca had sat on the couch and watched television with Mike and Carolyn, her shivering rarely ceasing.

At six, Carolyn had made them all eat, and watched as Rebecca pushed food around her plate, eating about a quarter of what was put in front of her.

At eight, Rebecca had finally just crawled into bed, Mike staying at her bedside until she fell asleep.

When Mike had come out of Rebecca's room, it had been eight-thirty, and for the next half-hour, there had just been silence. Mike had come out of Rebecca's room, and sat down in silence.

Carolyn had chosen to respect her partner's lack of conversation, knowing that his thoughts were racing in such a way that he couldn't speak- not even if he wanted to.

Finally, after a gasp broke the silence, Carolyn turned to see something she'd never thought she would.

Mike had started to cry.

"Mike," She'd whispered, reaching out to touch him.

"Don't…" He had choked, his voice breaking, "Don't…"

Then, in a moment, she took him into her arms, and for the next half-hour, they had cried together, finally falling asleep on the couch, in each other's arms.

And throughout the time the two friends had cried, held each other, and finally fallen asleep, in the other room, a child cried in her sleep from the force of her nightmares.

Then, at ten forty-five, Rebecca's scream of fear woke them. Mike, Carolyn noticed, was on his feet running to his daughter's room before she could so much as register the sound. Yet once she did, she, too, found herself at the door to Rebecca's room faster than she would have believed, only to find Rebecca sobbing and hysterical in Mike's arms as he tried to reassure her.

"No!" Rebecca cried, her voice strangled, trying to fight him off her, "No, get off me, don't touch me! Please! No! Don't!"

"Becky, sweetheart, it was just a dream. It's over, baby, it's over," Mike whispered, pulling her closer, only to find her resisting even more.

"Stop!" Rebecca pleaded, "Don't…don't…"

Carolyn realized then what was going on; realized that Rebecca was so lost within her nightmares that no male- not even Mike- was going to be able to comfort her.

"Mike," Carolyn said softly, "She doesn't know that it's you. She thinks she's still being raped."

Instantly, Mike let go of Rebecca, looking at Carolyn.

"What do I do?" He asked, panic abundant in his eyes.

Carolyn didn't respond, not wanting to admit that she didn't know that he could do. So, instead, she turned her attention to the hysterical young woman in front of her.

"Rebecca," Carolyn said, her voice firm but gentle as she came closer, kneeling in front of the girl who in so many ways, was becoming the daughter she never had, "Rebecca, look at me."

"Martin, no, stop!" Rebecca begged.

"Martin's not here, Rebecca." Carolyn said, forcing her voice to be calm, strong, and every emotion she wasn't feeling at the current moment, "It's me, honey, it's Carolyn. You're here with me, and Mike, and you're safe."

"Carolyn?" Rebecca said, her voice timid, "Make him stop. Please. Please make him stop. Mommy isn't stopping him."

Carolyn finally realized that the only way to get Rebecca out of this hell she was reliving was to get inside it for herself.

"What is he doing, Rebecca?"

"He's inside me," She whispered, "It's burning, God, it's burning. He's forcing me, he's forcing things inside me, and I can't see anything. Please, please, make him stop!"

"I'm trying, my love," Carolyn whispered, trying to stop herself from uttering her disgust out loud with a similar string of the obscenities Mike had just let lose.

"They've left me here for days," Rebecca whimpered, "And…oh, God, they're back again. Martin's…please, no. Please, no. It hurts, please, stop! Mommy, don't let him!"

"I'm going to kill that fucking bastard when I get my hands on him!" Mike hissed in the background, torn between rage and pain, wrath for his foster daughter's biological mother, and his compassion for her.

"Are you in the closet, Rebecca? Are your mom and Martin with you?" Carolyn asked, watching the girl nod, "Okay. Okay. Rebecca. Look around, sweetheart. Look around you. You're not there, are you? See? Martin's not here, your mother's not here. It's just me, you, and Mike, and you're safe."

And with that, Rebecca broke down with a force that Mike had never seen her break down with; with that, Rebecca was back with him.

"It felt so real…" Rebecca whimpered as Carolyn pulled her into her arms, "Oh, God, Carolyn…Mike…I…I'm sorry."

"C'mere," Mike said, sitting next to her on the bed, putting his arms around her as Carolyn continued stroking Becky's hair, "No, Becky, this wasn't your fault. This wasn't your fault, and I'm not going to let you apologize for it."

"Mike's right…Rebecca," Carolyn said, choosing to go for her given name over the nickname Mike had chosen, "It's okay, it's okay."

Still sobbing as she sat between Mike and Carolyn, Rebecca managed to gasp through her tears that she needed to take a shower, then left to do so.

Mike and Carolyn sat on her bed, motionless and silent for an amount of time that neither could identify. The silence was then shattered by Mike's cell phone ringing.

"Logan," He replied, looking at Carolyn, "You have? Good. Do you need us to come down there? Verify anything?…Alright. Good."

He hung up the phone, closed his eyes, and turned to Carolyn, who sat, waiting for whatever news had come to her partner, fear and hope playing tug-of-war in her gut.

"What is it?" She asked.

"That was Alex. Albany police found Leona and Martin. They've been put under arrest, and they're being transported back to Manhattan."

---

**A/N: **Oh, yes, I am evil. Stay tuned! Please review.


	7. Finally

**A/N: **I figured, realistically, sleep deprivation would not be a common factor in MCS interrogation methods…so, I began the interrogation in the morning. If someone thinks that would be inaccurate, please say so.

Sorry so long for an update, but things have been insane. I am simultaneously doing two to three hours of homework a night, and working on three different theatrical projects with my school's drama group. Forgive me.

Most of this chapter is an interrogation, so I have a lot of dialogue. Usually I try to avoid huge amounts of it, but I feel if it tells a story, all the better. Thoughts?

**Spoilers: **'To The Bone'

**Warning: **Graphic/mature nature and content

* * *

**OPP (Major Case)**

**Tuesday, July 18th, 8:10 AM**

"Ms. Andrews." Alex said, forcing her voice to be controlled, "I'm Detective Eames. I see you haven't invoked your right to counsel."

"I've done nothing wrong."

"You left your daughter locked in a closet for four days, before leaving her in the same locked closet once you left for the last eight days. I happen to find that wrong."

"Becca…" Leona said, "When they arrested me they told me she was in ICU. Did she survive?"

Alex decided to play her cards; to test this woman's maternal emotion towards her daughter.

"I'm sorry, Leona," Alex said stiffly, "I'm afraid she didn't. The doctors did all they could for the malnourishment and dehydration, but…"

Leona simply sat there.

"My life has no purpose now," She whispered, her eyes remaining dry.

"Oh, don't worry," Alex said, her voice turning cold, "She'll be with you everytime you shoot up using the money you earned when you and Martin whored her out."

Suddenly, Leona began to cry.

"I didn't want to do that part of it. He told me it would teach her respect."

"Leona," Alex said, "You locked her in the closet, you beat her to a bloody pulp. There were untreated cuts and burns all over her, bruises in various stages of healing. All that was to teach her respect?"

"Martin told me it would," Leona whispered, "And I believed him."

Alex had found it; the smallest hint of true maternal feelings; a miniscule amount, but enough that it was worth a shot.

"I'm sorry, Leona. I lied to you," Alex said, "Rebecca is alive. She's been out of the hospital for five days now, she's in foster care. And you know what? She told my partner and I that the abuse never really got bad until you met Martin three years ago. She told me that before that, it was just the odd slap. What did Martin do? What made you change your philosophies of raising Rebecca?"

"He told me that children needed discipline," Leona said, "He showed me how to do it. She complained about dinner one night-"

"What did she say?" Alex asked, hoping her theory was right.

"That she had a huge test the next day and wanted to know if we could switch nights for who cooked. Martin explained to me…that she needed discipline; that was what she wanted. So he got me to burn her hand, on the frying pan for that time, and with greater intensity each time. He had to help me. So often I didn't know that she _was _complaining. I was surprised, because he was right. She didn't complain anymore after a while. She became so compliant around me, she seemed happy."

Alex hadn't expected this. She hadn't thought she would feel the slightest lenient or merciful thought towards the woman who could inflict such horrible suffering upon her own child- and yet, she could see it. She could see how clearly this woman had been manipulated.

"You started to trust his judgment. I understand. It makes sense. What other recommendations did he make?"

"He told me I should make her sleep with blankets on the floor when she wasn't thankful for her bed or other luxuries. He taught me to limit the amount of food and water Becca was given so she would learn gratitude."

Alex closed her eyes for a moment. That bastard. That _bastard_.

"Did Martin always have to help you identify Becca's complaining?"

"At first, but then I started to see it the way he did. How when she said she wasn't hungry or couldn't eat, she was really complaining about the food, and shouldn't get as much of it. How when she couldn't sleep she was really just not appreciating the luxury and comfort we provided her with."

"What else did he tell you to do to her?"

"That when she disobeyed in any other way, I should use a leather belt on her."

Alex nodded again, wanting to walk into the adjacent interrogation room where Bobby was trying to break Martin Sechens, and make him die a long, slow painful death, after which experiencing, he could suffer a long, painful eternity in hell for all she cared.

"So," Alex said, "When did the soliciting start?"

"I started dating Martin," Leona said, "When Rebecca was starting seventh grade. For the first year, he just taught me to discipline her. On occasion, he would do it himself. Then, right after Becca finished seventh grade, Martin moved in."

Bracing herself for the worst, Alex asked the next question

"And then what?"

"I thought I'd been doing good enough at disciplining her to improve her qualities, but Martin told me I wasn't. That there was improvement, but not enough. He started an immediate program with her- a reversal program to get rid of the evil left within her."

"And you agreed to this?" Alex asked.

"Of course!" Leona said, "I was amazed by how much time he spent- and spends- with her. He loves her so much!"

It was all Alex could do to not get sick in the middle of the interrogation room, not to release her disgust in several choking heaves. That…that…_thing_ of a man had taken this woman and made her see evil in her child; had convinced Leona that he was doing unbelievably heinous things to her daughter out of love.

"Well, what did he do with this…reversal program?"

"He made me promise to stay out of it," Leona said, an expression of motherly love on her face, "But he'd permit me to come in once a day to see the transformation so long as I didn't speak to her."

"Come in to where?" Alex said, forcing back her disgust with all she had.

"The closet, of course," Leona said, "He kept her in there for the entire two months; it took that long to take away the evil. It was a little sad, we did have to lock her in, and at times bind her to force her not to stop the goodness we were trying to give her."

"What was in the closet?"

"The four walls and a bucket. When she did well with the day's activities, Martin would bring her food, and water. But she had to be good to get it, if she failed, she had to go without."

"What were the activities?"

She was going to be sick, and she knew it. She hated it. That beautiful little girl- that sweet, strong, amazing child…how? How could that have gone on? She didn't understand.

"He was preparing her for September. It was when we began to make her…what was the word you used? Whore her out? Anyways. She had to do whatever he said to do sexually. Let him touch her, touch him. He'd discipline her daily, too."

She couldn't do it. Alex couldn't let herself ask any more. It was too much, too much. But Leona was continuing, each word stabbing Alex through the heart.

"He loves her so much, Detective. He loved her enough to hurt her to show her what was good."

"Leona," Alex said, her voice breaking, her intonation similar to the one she used with her nephew, "Do you really believe that? He's hurt her, Leona. Rebecca's hurting. Can't you see? Look at this picture. Doesn't she look like she's hurting? Do you see any goodness in that?"

Alex slid across a photo taken in ICU for evidence; a picture of Rebecca that pulled at her heartstrings.

"She looks beautiful," Leona said, smiling, "See, Martin and I did it. She understands. We won't have to discipline her anymore. Now, please. Enough of this chitchat. I want to take my daughter home."

For the first time, Alex felt a moment of unquestionable compassion for the woman sitting across from her. She was so confused; she didn't even realize she'd hurt her daughter. How could Alex explain to her in a way Leona would understand?

"I'm sorry," Alex said, "Rebecca can't go home with you and Martin. You two are going to live somewhere else. But, I promise you, Rebecca's guardian is a wonderful man. He loves her very much."

Alex then shouted for medical assistance when Leona began to convulse.

* * *

**Merchie's Coffee Shop**

**Tuesday, July 18th, 3:20 PM**

Mike and Carolyn sat across from each other, in the café across from Elizabeth's office, waiting for the teen to finish her appointment with the psychologist. 

"Mike," Carolyn said, "I'm transferring."

"What?" Mike said, praying she was joking; not believing.

"I'm transferring. I got the approval this morning."

"Where?"

"Brooklyn SVU."

"Why?"

"Because I try to work homicide investigations; high-profile cases, and I can't. From the moment I laid eyes on Rebecca, I had no passion for it anymore. I'm going to SVU so I can try to stop this; so I can get justice for people like Rebecca. I just…Mike…I'm sorry…"

"Damn it, Barek!" Mike said, angry now, "So, what, you're just leaving? Without even considering the effect this might have on me?"

"I'm leaving the _squad_, Mike. Who said anything about you? I made a promise to you that I would be a mother figure to Becky. And the more I'm around her, the more I want to do that. I'll be around, Mike. Just not on the job."

With that, Mike found himself unable to fight. That was true.

"And because of you," Carolyn whispered, her eyes tearing up, "Because I love you too much. Because I care too much."

Mike looked up.

"What the bloody hell did you just say?"

"I care too much,"

"Before that."

"I said I…lo…love you." Carolyn whispered, her voice breaking, before she started to laugh, "I never wanted to admit it to myself. I hated you at first. I thought you were a pompous jackass who didn't give a damn about anyone but himself. But I was wrong. Very wrong. And the more I tried to hate you, I guess the more I found myself falling for you…"

Carolyn blushed, taking a sip of her tea before she continued.

"And you don't have to feel the same, Mike. I completely understand if you don't. I'm not the kind of girl you'd fall for, and I know it. I can handle the fact that you don't feel the same. But I can't handle you thinking that I'm leaving because of you."

Mike laughed.

"Carrie," He said softly, taking her hand, "You think I haven't felt the same way? I liked you from the first time you started muttering to yourself at crime scenes. When do you start at SVU?"

"A week."

"This transfer…" Mike said, smiling, "Could be a good thing."

"How so?"

"I get to do this."

Later on, when Mike and Carolyn looked back on their first kiss, neither one knew who truthfully initiated it. All they remembered was that it was passionate.

And well worth a transfer.

* * *

**Residence of Mike Logan**

**Tuesday, July 18th, 7:31 PM**

**Mike Logan's POV**

Alex had left me a message on my voicemail; a message that would go on to haunt me.

Leona was awaiting trial in a mental institution; her trial pending on whether or not, after medicated, she was fit.

I sit across from Rebecca, watching her. I don't know how to tell her. Don't know how to explain to her how or why a woman who watched her child suffer years of abuse, just gets off with a "mentally unstable".

"Becky," I say, forcing myself to be strong, "Before Martin was around, your mom didn't do anything other than hit you, right?"

"Right." She responds, looking at me.

God, the pain in her eyes. Always, the pain.

"Do you think she started doing these things because of Martin?"

"I think it was more the drugs Martin made her do than Martin himself."

If she's repressed the beginning, I'm going to have to tread lightly around it. If she's repressed it, she's not ready to deal with it.

"At the beginning, did Martin ever tell her to do things to you?"

"He told her that the drugs he was giving her would help her obtain wisdom and goodness in raising me. The more she took them, combined with what he…brainwashed her into believing…the…more violent she got."

Rebecca's voice cracks, and her eyes lock onto mine, tears filling them, praying for any sign of comfort, or reassurance. Something that will remind her that it's okay.

"Keep going, honey."

"She let him do things to me. First he'd ask, then he'd just do it. And she'd let him…she just let him…why would she…?"

"I don't know, Becky. But I won't let it happen to you anymore. Listen, your mother, and Martin…are in custody. Sweetheart…"

God, what do I tell her? What do I say? What do I say? What do I say?

"Your mother…is very sick. She's been put into a mental institution."

Rebecca tears up; in pain, yet dignified. Hurt, yet understanding. God, I hate that part. Because she's a child, yet she's an adult.

"Martin?" She whispers through the tears.

"He's being kept in prison until the trial is finished."

She nods again, numb, the tears welling, and welling. Never released.

"Go on," I whisper, looking her in the eyes, "It's okay."

And finally, the silence is shattered. Finally, a sob. Finally…


End file.
